


If the Sky Comes Falling Down For You

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Batfamily Bingo [13]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bad Parent Jack Drake, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Bisexual Tim Drake, Brotherly Love, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Tim Drake, Gen, Good Bro Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Older Brothers, i left it vague enough that he can be whatever you want him to be, prompt: rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Dick flips through radio stations, whistling along to the commercial jingle stuck in his head and squinting through the rain pounding on the windshield like it’s trying to bash right through the glass. He doesn’t get far in his channel surfing before "Rockin’ Robin" plays from the passenger seat. Eyes still on the road, Dick fumbles for his cell. He tucks it between his shoulder and ear. “Hey, Timmers. Clocking in kind of late, huh?”There’s a quick breath on the other side.“Is this a bad time?”
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Batfamily Bingo [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792990
Comments: 15
Kudos: 730





	If the Sky Comes Falling Down For You

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: “i’d love to get dick/tim (platonic obvs) for the rain square please”
> 
> (I've been writing a lot of coming out-themed stuff lately, can't imagine why. It's not like I'm REPRESSED or anything)

It’s been raining cats and dogs all day with no end in sight. Not a rarity for a place like Gotham, but irritating nonetheless.  
  
Dick drives through the storm and checks the clock on his Mustang’s dashboard—almost midnight. At this rate he should be back in Blüdhaven with enough time to finish up his lagged reports _and_ get some shuteye before his shift at the BPD tomorrow. He spent all weekend at the manor, catching up with Alfred and finally getting some laundry done. (Not that he doesn’t have a perfectly good washer/dryer setup in his apartment building, but Dick will take Alfred’s fabric softener and cookies over a loveless wash and tumble any day.)  
  
Dick flips through radio stations, whistling along to the commercial jingle stuck in his head and squinting through the rain pounding on the windshield like it’s trying to bash right through the glass. He doesn’t get far in his channel surfing before "Rockin’ Robin" plays from the passenger seat. Eyes still on the road, Dick fumbles for his cell. He tucks it between his shoulder and ear. “Hey, Timmers. Clocking in kind of late, huh?”  
  
There’s a quick breath on the other side. _“Is this a bad time?”_  
  
“Not at all, I’m just on the road. What’s up?”  
  
He hears Tim swallow thickly. _“I...um. Sorry.”_  
  
“You don’t have to apologize. Really, a phone call from my favorite Boy Wonder is _way_ preferable than listening to radio static for the next fifteen miles.” He waits, but Tim doesn’t respond with the usual quip. A silent Tim Drake is always a bad Tim Drake, he's learned from experience. “Tim? You still there?”  
  
 _“...Yeah.”_  
  
Something is wrong. Dick can feel it. “Are you okay?”  
  
 _“Physically or emotionally?”_  
  
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Both, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
 _“Um. Not great."_  
  
Dick is already making a U-turn, cutting across the mostly empty freeway and plotting a course right back to Gotham. “Where are you?”  
  
 _“I’m...not sure. I started walking and wasn’t really paying attention until I stopped here.”_ Dick presses harder on the accelerator. _“I think I’m near...Seventh and Berkeley, maybe? It’s easier to...recognize everything from above.”_  
  
That’s in downtown Gotham, almost four miles from Tim’s house. Dick doesn’t know if he’s hoping that’s where Tim came from or not. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just stay put for now until I get you, okay?”  
  
 _“Okay.”_ It’s more than a tad worrying how little Tim is talking. For as long as Dick has known him, once Tim is comfortable with a person it’s all but impossible to get him to shut up. It’s one of his most endearing traits, actually. But Tim is _never_ this quiet unless he’s feeling the lowest of lows, which makes Dick fear for the worst.   
  
“Did something happen?”  
  
There’s a quiet noise that sounds all too much like a sniffle, then— _“Please don’t make me talk about it.”_ Oh god, he was attacked wasn’t he. Someone died. He was unmasked in front of a camera crew. Literally _anything_ could have happened that would cause him to react like this.  
  
Tim seems to sense Dick’s mental spiral because he follows with, _“I wasn’t—I mean, I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m not bleeding out in a gutter or anything like that. But I don’t—I can’t talk about it now. Not on the phone.”_  
  
Okay. Dick can do that. He can hear the silent plea in Tim’s voice—the wish to be given this time to cool down and get his thoughts in order before they delve into the heavy stuff. Still, Dick would have liked to understand the full story now instead of spending the rest of the drive with his stomach in knots.  
  
“Okay,” he says anyway. “We can talk about it when I get there. But is it okay if I ask you a couple of questions? Just to ease my own mind.” He waits, then gets a small affirming noise that he takes as the go-ahead. “Do you need a hospital?”  
  
 _“No, I’m—I told you I’m fine.”_ He certainly doesn’t sound fine by any measure, but Dick trusts Tim enough that he doesn’t push it.   
  
“Are you in uniform?”  
  
 _“Not yet. I was planning to go out after my dad went to bed.”_  
  
“Does Bruce know where you are?”  
  
 _“No.”_  
  
“What about your dad?”  
  
 _“No.”_ But it’s...it's different this time. The answer comes quicker. And Dick swears he can hear the lump in Tim’s throat, making his words come out choked.   
  
“You’re getting me kind of nervous here, kid. Did someone do something to you? You don’t have to tell me everything yet, but if you were—”  
  
 _“My battery is dying,”_ Tim says, clipped. _“Are you close?”_  
  
“I’ll be there in five minutes, but—”  
  
 _“Bye, Dick.”_ The dial tone sounds.  
  
Dick drops his phone back on the seat beside him and punches the steering wheel once. _“Damn it.”_ His instinct is to call back and not let up until he gets the answers he needs, but he knows Tim. That kid won’t give up anything he doesn’t want to, and he _clearly_ doesn’t want to.  
  
Dick drives down the street Tim told him, scanning every shadow and alley for a small, hopefully uninjured teenager. At last he finds Tim sitting on the curb of a well-lit street corner next to a frequented deli. Smart. It’s secluded enough that he won’t run into any cops or people who would be suspicious about a young kid all alone, but public enough that he won’t get jumped. Even so, it’s raining even harder than before and the kid looks soaked to the bone, hunched and shivering as he is.  
  
Dick shifts the car into park and prepares to get out, but Tim has already spotted him and heads for the passenger side. He's completely drenched even with the hood of his sweatshirt being pulled over his head, hiding most of his face in shadow. He climbs into the car, apologies spilling before he’s even fully inside.   
  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have made you come here but I didn’t know who else to call—”  
  
“It’s okay, chill,” Dick tells him. Tim won’t look at him head-on, but he’s shivering so badly that Dick can hear his teeth clack from here. Rain drips from his hair and streaks over his skin in rivulets. Dick reaches into the backseat and comes back holding the spare fleece blanket he keeps there for nights like this one.   
  
Tim sees Dick’s luggage in the backseat. “You were going back to Blüd, weren’t you? I’m sorry, if I’d known that I wouldn’t have—”   
  
“Hey. I’m glad you called me, okay? I don’t mind calling in late tomorrow morning if it means making sure that you’re safe.” He shakes the blanket out and lays it over Tim, tucking it close. His skin is ice cold where Dick’s hands graze it. “Christ, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?” He turns up the heater, checking to make sure it blows as much hot air on Tim as possible.  
  
Tim shudders under the blanket. “A couple—couple hours. Wasn’t r-raining as bad when I left.”  
  
“Left where?”  
  
Tim just shakes his head, keeping his gaze trained on his lap. “I’m g-getting your car all wet.”  
  
“I don’t care about that.”  
  
“I—I was planning to just get a motel room for the night, but I didn’t think to bring my wallet with me and I didn’t want to use an emergency credit card from one of my equipment stashes because then _Bruce_ would get the bill and find out and—”  
  
Dick waves his hands. “Hang on, a _motel room?_ What the hell are you talking about? Why can’t you go home?” Tim gulps and shakes his head again, face still hidden beneath his hood. Dick grabs his shoulder and turns him to face him. “Damn it, Tim, will you look at me?”  
  
The nearest light source is a lamppost on the sidewalk, but it’s enough for him to see Tim’s face with horrifying clarity. The kid's lip is swollen. Blood has crusted over a sizable gash that undoubtedly came from Tim’s teeth tearing through the flesh on impact. It was a punch—there’s no way it wasn’t. A spot on Tim’s jaw is red and will almost definitely blossom into a painful purple bruise by morning.  
  
Dick takes in the damage, his mouth going dry. “Tim…who did this to you?”  
  
Tim pulls away. “No one. It looks worse than it is.”  
  
Dick reaches over and opens the glove compartment. He takes out a small package of tissues and wets one with the water bottle he keeps in the cup holder. “C’mere.” He takes Tim’s chin, moving slowly so Tim can track the motion. He tries to be as gentle as he can while he dabs away the blood on Tim’s face. The kid winces anyway.  
  
“This didn’t come from patrol,” Dick guesses.   
  
Tim wears his battle scars with pride; there’s no way he would be this withdrawn unless it was from something he didn’t want to reveal. Now that he can see them properly, Dick realizes that Tim’s eyes are red-rimmed and close to spilling over again. How much has he cried tonight? What horrible thing had to happen for him to be this broken?  
  
“I’m sorry I called you,” Tim repeats. His voice cracks when he says, “I didn’t know what else to do.”  
  
A rusty screwdriver twists its way into Dick’s heart. “Please, kiddo. I need to know what happened to you tonight.”  
  
“I...I came out to my dad.”  
  
Dick blinks. And then does it again because that came so out of left field it’s not even _on_ the field anymore. Or whatever the term is for when one is caught so off guard that they can feel their brain dissolving into soup and leaking out of their ears.  
  
Tim has never mentioned being gay before (or bisexual, or asexual, or whatever he is), so Dick doesn’t _remotely_ know how to react to this. Not to say that he minds or that he loves Tim any less, obviously. It would be awfully problematic for a bisexual dude to be upset about his pseudo-little brother coming out to him. But it is a surprise.  
  
Luckily, Dick’s reaction doesn’t matter because the shock is replaced with anger in a second once he catches the meaning behind Tim’s words. “Your _dad_ did this to you?”  
  
Tears form in the corners of Tim’s eyes. One of them falls. “It was—I shouldn’t have—” His breath hitches and Dick doesn’t even think before pulling Tim close and letting the kid bury his face in Dick’s sweater. _“It wasn’t his fault.”_  
  
God. Shit. Damn. “Your dad...he’s the one who hit you, right? He hurt you.”  
  
“We were having a really good day. I got a hundred on a history test and he actually paid attention when I told him about it. Dana went to her sister’s house for the weekend so Dad and I watched a baseball game and ordered pizza for dinner. We had a _really good day.”_ _  
_ _  
_Dick knows that’s code for “my dad actually acknowledged me for once,” but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Tim talk, waiting patiently when he has to take a breath and wipe his tears.  
  
“I always knew he had a problem with gay people,” Tim says, “but I already have to keep so much of my life a secret from him. I didn’t want this to be another thing I have to hide. And we got along so well today that I felt safe enough to tell him the truth.”  
  
Dick can see it so clearly. Tim, feeling for the first time in a long time like he can actually trust his father. Wanting to share this part of his life with him, as he _should_ be able to. And then Jack. Jack, Tim’s _father,_ changing from a content man to an enraged one faster than you can say, _“holy homophobia, Batman!”_ Tim doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt for something he can’t control, and _especially_ not by his own father at a time when he felt secure enough to share something he’s been hiding his whole life.  
  
“It all happened so fast.” Tim’s breath shudders under Dick’s hand on his back. “I knew he would have a problem with it, but—but he’s my dad. I thought he was supposed to love me no matter what.”  
  
“He is,” Dick tells him. “Parents are _never_ supposed to hurt you. And definitely not for something like this.”  
  
“He’s never hit me before. I mean, there have been a few times when he’s gotten rough with me. He’ll grab me hard and break my things and yell at me, but—but he’s never _hit_ me before. And he didn’t even apologize after. He just kept yelling about how I was selfish for trying to disgrace this family and that he raised me better than this. And...I don’t know. I just left. I didn’t even think about what I was doing until I was already out the door.”  
  
“God. I’m so sorry, Tim.” Dick doesn’t know what else to say. This never should have happened. Tim is too good, too pure to have to endure being rejected in a moment of vulnerability. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart carved out and thrown back in his face.  
  
“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” Tim says into Dick’s shoulder. “I can’t go back home. I have nowhere else to go.”  
  
“You have me. You have Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, _all_ of us love you and want you safe. And Bruce would be happy to let you stay at the manor once we tell him what happened.”  
  
Tim wrenches himself out of Dick’s arms, eyes wide with oncoming panic. “You can’t tell him. I swear to god, Dick, if you tell Bruce about this I’ll never talk to you again.”  
  
“Bruce isn’t like your dad, buddy, he loves you—”  
  
 _“Promise me.”_  
  
“Okay!” Dick raises his hands. “Okay, I promise. I won’t tell anybody. Cross my heart.”  
  
Tim releases a shaky breath. “No one can know about this. They can’t.” He sits back in his seat, pulling the blanket up to his chin.   
  
“You know none of us care, right? We’ll all love you just the same.”  
  
“No offense, but you guys are cool with a lot of things that are wrong. Like vigilantism.”  
  
“Then let me rephrase: There is _nothing_ wrong with you liking guys, Tim. Your dad, everyone who thinks you shouldn’t be able to love who you want, _they’re_ the wrong ones. Not you. And your dad never should have laid a hand on you, no matter what it is you did. That’s, like, the first rule of parenting.”  
  
Tim sniffles. His tears haven't stopped, but they've slowed. “I don't know why I'm being such a baby about this. I’ve taken hits way worse than this before.”  
  
“But it’s different when it comes from someone you love,” Dick finishes for him. He rubs Tim's shoulder, wishing he could reverse time, Flash-style, and keep this entire night from happening in the first place. “I get it.”  
  
“I can’t go back to him. Not yet.”  
  
“Then you don’t have to. You can stay at the manor tonight.” Before Tim can protest, he adds on, “We don’t have to tell Bruce everything. You can share whatever you feel comfortable sharing, nothing more. Alfred can take a look at your lip and I know that Bruce will be more than okay with you staying for as long as you need to.”  
  
Tim wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “And my dad?”  
  
“We can work that part out later. If you want to press charges, we can do that. If you want to stay with Bruce or with me or, hell, even at Titans Tower forever and put the stuff with your dad behind you, that’s okay too. You’re in charge here.”  
  
“You’re using your cop voice," Tim notes, forming what could almost be a smile.

Dick chuckles, knowing exactly which voice Tim is talking about. The one that bleeds through when he’s placating victims or talking down a frightened child. “Sorry. Force of habit. But what I said still stands.”  
  
“I...think I just want to sleep. It’s been a long night.”  
  
“The manor it is, then.” Dick puts his seat belt on and watches Tim follow suit. He reaches over and cups the back of Tim’s head, threading his fingers through the rain-soaked locks. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”  
  
Tim nods, but Dick has a feeling that if his lip weren’t so swollen he’d be biting it anxiously. That’s okay, though. Even if Tim doesn’t fully believe that he’s going to get through this rough patch, Dick has enough hope for the both of them. And in his experience, that can be more than enough.  
  
He turns the key in the ignition and they drive off into the rainy Gotham night.

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
